


Jane and Tarzan, Scene 6 - T

by jro512



Series: Jane and Tarzan (Disney 1999) [6]
Category: Tarzan (1999)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Romance, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 15:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14718659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jro512/pseuds/jro512
Summary: make it official wink wink nudge nudge





	Jane and Tarzan, Scene 6 - T

It is dark. More than dark. The dark is substance, is chill and dense. It restricts.

“Tarzan?”

Jane’s voice barely escapes her throat, a pathetic squeak. She gasps deep, muscles heaving, inhaling so little she cannot afford even another squeak.

Heaving, heaving against the darkness, a restraint snaps. Jane feels the tension of twenty more. She pants faster, gulping down air until her body strains to bursting.

Another restraint snaps. And another. They slip away over the back of her neck and across her abdomen and between her ankles with a slick, sluggish slime.

Another snaps, pulling at her hair. The breath that had filled her nearly to pain before lurches out in a stunted moan. The panic that had held her voice in the pit of her stomach comes out like wet cotton dragged from her throat. She gags.

“Tarzan,” she attempts. “Tarzan!”

Thunder rumbles. Lightning splits the canopy into a brilliant relief of flash and shadow.

Fat droplets of rain slap against Jane’s cheeks. She heaves again, her lungs greedy and ribs forced outward, and her breath reaches her muscles.

“Tarzaaaaaaannn!!” she shrieks. Flexing her fists upward toward the sky and straining against the ground, the remaining vines snap two, three at a time.

“Tarzan!” she screams.

A gunshot resounds. For an instant the storm seems still.

“Clayton…” The breath recedes from her chest and steals her voice once more.

Jane slumps forward from the mass of dissected vines. Limbs sapped and unsteady, she regains her breath and pushes herself upward. “Clayton.” The name escapes in an exhale. “Clayton, no.”

A gunshot, closer now, echo overtaken by thunder.

She is cold, skirt heavy and clinging, feet slipping and starting against the slimy layer of botanic decay saturated by the storm. Her legs ache with the effort of movement. She can see the lights of camp in the distance, but not the pinpoints of sharp white lantern flames. The horizon is orange and red and smoky, unnatural against the black of the jungle night.

Jane runs, wills herself through the sludge of resistance, stumbling, hips colliding with broad trunks, shoulders rebounded by wiry upshoots, and knees scraping against ancient roots like walls rising from the ground to hinder her. The rain stings at the back of her neck.

“Tarzan!” The plea wins its way past the stricture in her chest, as if her heart is squeezed by the darkness. “Tarzan,” she begins to pant in rhythm with her accelerating strides. “Tarzan. Tarzan. Tarzan!”

A gunshot rings in her ears now. She presses her hands against the sides of her head. The boom reverberates in her bones. When it recedes, she brings her hands down before her eyes. They are streaked with blood. Her eyes flit upward.

Tarzan stands before her. His brow is dark, his chin to his chest. Jane cannot see his eyes. He is shrouded in the darkness. Her hand darts outward toward him.

“Tarzan, NO!” she screams.

The gunshot pierces his chest.

 

~\~|~/~

 

Jane scrambles upright, the blankets falling to her lap. Humid air rasps down her throat and back out several times. His name comes to the tip of her tongue.

“Jane.” The warm notes of his voice are comfortingly close to her ear.

“Oh, Tarzan!” She wraps her arms around his shoulders and breathes in the smell of him. He returns her embrace and does not rush her to speak. After a long moment to let the remnants of the dream slip from her mind’s eye, she lets her hands slide back down to her lap.

He turns and lights the lamp beside the mat as she’d shown him in the dying sunlight. “Jane dreams Clayton.”

She can tell by the inflection in his voice that he means Clayton, the sound of the gunshot, rather than Clayton, the man. Tarzan rarely talks about Clayton the man. Clayton the savage.

The light dimly illuminates the creeping leafy vines that have overtaken the human home built decades ago high in the trees. Shoots of flowers and young trees reach through the slats of the floor. Green and lush fills every gap in the beams overhead.

“Yes,” she answers. “Only a short dream this time.”

“But same fear.” With two fingers, Tarzan touches the soft slope just left of her sternum, where her breast begins to rise away from her chest, where he’d listened to her heart months ago. “Dream night fear.”

She nods. “Nightmare.”

“Nightmare,” he repeats. “Clayton is gone,” he states with finality. This time, he means Clayton the man. “Fear will gone too. Nightmare will gone. Tarzan and Jane have love.” He holds her hand in his, palm to palm, fingers resting against one another’s wrists. His hands are exquisite, Jane thinks, broad rough palms and long lithe fingers, dexterous and tender.

“You are right.”

“I know.” One side of his mouth curves upward. “Only need Jane to have love.” He kisses her forehead, then presses his own forehead against hers. “Fear gone?” he whispers.

Jane is silent. Moments pass. The jungle night rustles. A board in the wall creaks.

“Jane?” Tarzan touches the underside of her chin with his knuckle.

Jane raises her eyes to meet Tarzan’s. The pools of stormy green are rendered gray in the dim light. A shaft of moonlight penetrates the greenery obscuring an opening in the roof and glints off of the gray.

Unabashed, Jane kisses her ape-man with a force exceeding that of her unexpected return on the beach. But this time there is no hint of embarrassment, of self-consciousness, no hint of intent to retreat. The heat that buzzes across his skin and ripples through his abdomen raises the hairs on the back of his neck. He cups her face and pulls himself into her kiss with an almost inaudible groan.

Jane pulls away so slightly. Eyes still shut, she caresses his cheekbone where it meets his hairline. “Tarzan, I miss London. I miss my home.” A tear glides down her cheek onto his palm where he cups her face.

Tarzan swipes it away with a gentle swish of his thumb. In a hushed and rasping voice, he vows to her, “Jane give up everything to stay with Tarzan. I will give up everything to make you happy.”

Another tear falls, and another chases it. “Tarzan, I…” Jane whispers. “I…” Tarzan kisses each tear that falls and holds his beautiful creature close. Her arms are pale and slender and soft, and as he tightens his embrace they press her breasts together and against his chest. His fingers trail through her hair and the smell of it is warm and invigorating. She softly repeats his name and before long the tears cease. Soon, she returns his kisses with the sweetness of her own.

“Tarzan…” Jane’s hands begin to explore the musculature of his shoulders, his chest, fingertips descending his ribcage and upper abdomen, taking in every rise and fall of breath, every sensation of warmth and tensed anticipation. “Do you know what it is to make love?”

Tarzan can’t resist another kiss. He tastes her deeper and nips her lower lip. “Not words, maybe. But I could show Jane.”

“I would like that, my Wild Man.”

 

~\~|~/~

 

The next morning, Jane and Tarzan fly through the trees, outpacing Porter and Tantor and even Terk, to the highest point of his territory. With reverence and excitement, Tarzan sets Jane on her feet next to him and, pummeling his chest, lets loose the cry of victory and joy that all the jungle knows, reverberating to the sea and back for the love of his Jane.


End file.
